If you've ever been in a doctor's waiting room when there's a mini epidemic of colds, read on you'll know what I mean!
I sat in a corner, I always do. I'm not in the crowd of young mums any more with their snotty offspring in arms. I did plenty of that when my daughter was young. I see elderly people with handkerchiefs permanently glued to their noses and the occasional sneeze that makes everyone raise their heads from the boring DIY magazines that doctor's waiting rooms all contain for some reason. Then there's the contagious coughing episode, how is it one will start and then the whole room vibrates with others joining the chorus. If you weren't ill to begin with, you sure as **** would be by the time you left. Doctor's waiting rooms should carry a health warning.
The conversations intrigue me every time, not that I'm nosey, just curious. Why is it the chat always involves either death, bowels, or the menopause, not in that order of course. Just listening to one particular conversation had me wondering why I had gone to the doctor's in the first place, my ailment seemed so trivial.
You wait as one by one, each sniffler walks into the room, then 5 minutes later emerges with a green prescription. I bet she's got antibiotics, I thought. What a job that doctor has. I could do that! I thought. Then another one and another one, in and out with the same script, just one more and it's my turn. I'm going through my symptoms in my head, wondering how to start when I sit in that little wooden chair. I'm sure they find the most rickety chair in the surgery, probably a reject from the local school. Are they really that concerned that you might get comfy and stay the whole day! No way.
I go to her office as my name is called, through the snifflers, coughers and crying babies, trying not to inhale as I go past. I knock and a voice within the room tells me to enter. There's the chair waiting for me and the doctor with her stethoscope loosely dangling from her neck. "What can I do for you today?"
"Well" I begin. "You changed my script and asked me to come in". With not a word she turned to her computer and scrolled down my entire history on a screen.
"Mmmm, You've been on anti emetics for quite some time and I thought we'd try something else," She said, twiddling a well bitten pencil.
"Well, I've had all kinds of meds in the past and none of them worked," I said trying to defend the need for the drug. She paused and then asked about me generally. Where do I start, I mean which part of my life does she want to know about, the last six months, the last 12, the last 2 years, what? "I just want to know how you feel generally."
I paused as well. How could I tell her how I felt, it's not easy to describe, is it! Besides my feet feeling like they're in blocks of ice all the time and my fingers dead like wet fish, my feeding tube sticking out of my stomach, the sickness, constipation, painful neck, shoulders, knees, I could go on all day! So I just said I feel like someone with scleroderma! She smiled, which means what exactly!
"I think we'll leave you to get on with things just the way they are, you obviously feel you can manage and since I know very little about your condition, there's not an awful lot I can do for you." Well that's a surprise! She actually admits she knows nothing and I can cope, Ugh!
I left with no more than wasted time, back into the room full of the plague and past the guard dogs on reception. Yes guard dogs, have you ever tried to get past a doctor's receptionist?!
My hubby arrives home. "How did you go on today, Spud?"
"Spud" he calls me!" Oh y'know, the usual -- Spud." Where in the name of billy, did you get that name!
Now I'm not only a wife, I'm a spud, potato to you and me! And so it goes till next time.....